


Breath

by VandaQ



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Fluff, In my imaginary it is a bit fluffy, Suicidal intentions mentioned, Will's mind is a mess, and mine as well, but not canon, kind of, mild manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VandaQ/pseuds/VandaQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breathing and living is not easy for Will Graham. Gladly, he has his own help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath

**Author's Note:**

> If you do not like angsty things, please be warned some details might not please you.

_One. Two. Three._

The sound of his own breath - violent, steady - collided against his mind, echoing in a soothing way. The air bounced against his lungs, against his esophagus, his mouth, his teeth, firm, in the rythm of his heart. The only sound resonating was the sound of his own steps, calmly rising into the darkness of his skull then letting the symphony of his breath overtake the silence painted with the reverberation of his own pulse, slowly, lazy beating heart struggling against his ribs. His body trembled, muscles jerking uncontrollably in contact with the ruthless wind.

_Four. Five. Six._

His breath was heavy, coating with cold air his interior, making the contour of his lips, pale petals at the mercy of the freezing blow. The November sky seemed to mirror him, not a cloud interrupting the eternity of the grey mantal; milky gray or dirty white. Some snowflakes - the first of that year - floated around his shoulders, enveloping him in a deadly embrace.

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

Nine steps.

The sound of a car, closer, the light, very light weighted accords of a melody coming to him, stirring something unknown and forgotten in the beat of his heart; Bhrams - _Symphony No. 4_. The low, gentle caress of the cello whispered to him a fading lullaby, the murmur of the engine approaching him. He saw, under the complete darkness of his lids, the needle cutting affectionately through the heart of the cello, the wood trembling, gasping under its touch, so new and still familiar. The purr of the car was now engulfed by the sharpness of his breath - _gasp_ \- as he saw the wendigo, starring, scrutinising him with empty, void eyes. The creature approached, the rustling forest enchanting his soul; his own body stillness made his pulse alert, floods of adrenaline coursing through his vessels, beating rhythmically against his temple.

_Inhale. Exhale. Inhale._

The creature extended a hand, pointing it to his chest, to his heart, wanting to open the ribs and hunt the pulsating muscle. Make it tremble and gasp as the cello did in his excellence. The silence settled; heavy, breathtaking, stoic. And before the dark man could grasp him into his charcoal hold and engulf him into his vibrating contours, he distinguished another face.

_"Will!" Exhale..._

The contours of this so long studied face carved into his memory again, all the crevices and edges, all the arches and joints. The fingers of the other were burning against his freezing cold skin, bringing his pulse to a normal rate. Under the light caress Will flinched and then started to shake, the sound of his breath falling into the depths of his mind like an anchor.

_"Will, look at me."_

And he did; the calm, breathy, accented voice lulling him out of his trance, his vision partly blurred, hidden beyond a semi-opaque glass. His body started to cope with the temperature, while he could see the features of Hannibal's face softening, the touch of his hands molding into his skin, drawing warm traces against the ice like palor.

"What are you doing here, Will?" His own words travelled through his mind a while, only to settle on his lips; the amber eyes; gaze softened further, sinking into his own blue crystals.

"I... Took the dogs out..." he choked out, jerking uncontrollably into the other's hold, lips smashing sounds as they filled the air between them.

"William... Your dogs are sctratching at the door." He nodded, quietly letting the fear settle in, letting the absorbing realisation that his dogs weren't around him, that he drifted apart again, lettting all of this capture him in spinning, waltz like steps movements.

"Go inside," the doctor clearly spoke, against his cheek the vapoury breath of the other dancing upon the skin. He nodded again, the move resembling a furious shake. The alluring warmth of the fingers fade away, his cheeks being bit again by the wind. The intense pupils of the doctor followed loyally Will's figure until the empath disappeared behind the front foor, the almost familiar huffs of the man's dogs reaching his ears as he stepped back to his car.

The warmth invaded Will's body, relaxing his muscles in jolts pointed with pain and settling fear, his tongue heavy in his mouth and head spinning. Explosions of colours attacked his sight, then darkness conquered everything as he lowered his lids to shield his gaze. He could feel the dogs sniffing at his feet the renmants of the snow and a hot tongue ran across his knuckles, muscles flexing slightly under the touch.

"Will," the voice called to him, forced him to keep his feet on the ground and his breath even. "Will, are you in your full motoric capabilities?"

The ruffle of what seemed bags arrived to him and the proximity to the doctor was clear when he felt an arm draping around his waist, a firm hand glueing to the base of his back.

"Let's provide some clothes for you. I brought the breakfast and hot, Italian coffee."

_"Follow me, Will..."_

And he did; patiently, with slow, unbalanced steps, the steady body of the other supporting him, his breath marked by sharp intakes of air. The doctor's warmth was enticing him, drawn him to those arms and, as he made the slow movements, he felt his own eyes closing, his own mind giving in to the other's touch.

"Stay with me, Will," the voice commanded him in a calm, authoritative voice as fingers wrapped around his head, snaking into his locks, holding onto his skull. "Open your eyes." Will tried to fight the haze and made a gesture as to open his eyes, but his lids seemed to have their own conscience, independent of his own brain. In fact, all his muscles seemed to revolt against his decisions and, without any proper reason, he felt his lips quirk in a short, quick grin, before he abandoned the battle and let his mind possessed by the enchanting and so soothing darkness.

Hannibal left a short sigh split his lips which, as always, were placed composedly in a thin, elegant line. His arms sustained the relatively cold body of Will Graham's, his lungs filled now with the musky scent of the man and the fragrance of the snow. Applesauce showed at the feet of her owner and, with a glance, he dismissed the dog, hurrying to carry Will to his bed. A pensive aura caught his facial features, his thoughts now dominated by the feeling of Will's head on his shoulder. He stopped in front of the bed and burried his nose into the other's locks; desperation, fear, humiliation, the strong scent of forest, of river clay and mornings spent in bed; the alluring fragrance of a body which would tremble so exquisitely under him, the gentle perfume of mint imprinted in the raspberry like lips; Will's smell.

 

_Creak. Gasp._

For a second, the vivid impression of the dream stuck to his eyes, the rustle of the leaves still present in his ears and the murmur of the river still wandering through his mind. He wasn't trembling anymore; instead, he was comfortably enveloped in the warm embrace of the blanket and sheets, the silky, pleasurable feeling making him sigh with relief; relief from the both muscular and emotional relaxation. He wasn't lost in the forest; not yet. Doctor Lecter was there to save him. From the growling depths of his mind came thousand of questions, but their arrival to the light was interrupted by the click sound made by the door.

"Hello, Will."

"Doctor." His voice was raucous, like he hadn't used it in a while; the vocal chords felt strained, like he had screamed for hours, though. He remembered, through the sleepiness which still possessed his gestures, the howl of wild animals; and he wasn't sure if they were in his dream or if he had wondered the whole night through the forest.

"I am glad to see you feel better. I was concerned for your health. How is the fever?" The doctor entered the room, reverentiously, carrying with him that distinguished air of elegance and importance, the air of a predator, lusting blood, craving the screams of the prey.

"I'm sorry...," the empath made again an attempt to speak, the voice guttural and tired. He coughed, closing his eyes and sucking onto a breath, holding it into his lungs as he rubbed his palms over his burning face. "I caused you trouble again." He raised his gaze, not quite making contact with the maroon one of the psychologist, fearing somehow the fondness and care which would be found there; he knew; _he knew..._ Instead, he focused his sight on everything else from the doctor's appearance; the expensive shirt; _step_ ; the hair which now was a bit tousled, strands falling onto the generous forehead; _step_ ; the folded sleeves which revelead the forearms of the psychologist; _step_ ; the perfectly sculptured torso; _step_. The end of the road; his gaze met Lecter's one, letting it drag to the lowly burning fire of it, to the cavern of those hues which meant complete loss for him.

"You did not provoke any inconvenience to me, Will. I see myself obliged to remind you I want you to consider me a friend as well, not only the doctor which tries to dig holes in your captivating mind." The big palm of the doctor came to gently rest against his forehead, the sudden touch giving a chance to Will to retreat his gaze under his lids, then avert the mesmerising eyes of the other. "I see your fever subsided considerably. Do you feel potent enough to leave your bed?" A silent, quick nod was the reply to the question - simple - Will's tongue finding speaking too hard. The presence of the other was suffocating, never again Hannibal trespassing his personal space to such a degree. He inhaled again, the warmth of the other's hand retreating and, with careful movements, he forced himself to stand. Dizziness still held captive his mind, but he was recovering quickly.

"Did you... Give me meds?"

"Yes. I thought I was in the position to do everything for your well being."

"Aren't you always?"

Will huffed, bitterly smiling; bitter smile for the bitter taste from his tongue.

"Only as long as you are in the position of needing my help, of course."

"You changed my clothes."

"I dressed you, it is more appropriate to say."

"Appropriate..."

"Appropriate, yes."

"Thank you."

"It was only appropriate to help a friend."

"Are you sure you haven't helped a _patient_?"

"Do you see yourself as a patient?

"I don't see myself at all."

There was a lingering silence, both of them keeping the same infirm distance between them, feeling the rush of each other's blood through the vessels, coursing adrenaline through their body.

"May I tempt you with a coffee? You need liquids for the recovery to be prosperous and the treatment to be efficient." Will's face broke into a smile, stepping toward the door as he felt his muscles relaxing, his body weak and his sight slightly blurry.

"I think I need a coffee, then," he followed, exiting the room and trying to figure what time of the day could be. As the doctor read his mind, he heard his thick accented voice pronouncing:

"You slept for around three hours. It should be two in the afternoon already." Will nodded absentmindedly, entering the kitchen with the doctor on his trace. The dogs seemed to already have eaten judging after their cans and now they were napping on the livingroom floor, in the company of the sounds of the orchestra; the only classical music he owned; Giovanni Pergolesi - _Stabat Mater Dolorosa_.

"I haven't heard in a while that piece," Will confessed, muttering, after taking his seat on a chair, as if they were proceeding a ritual.

"It is, indeed, a remarkable piece; Pergolesi's interpretation of pain is more than astute and justice; it is gratifying." The empath almost grinned at that expert explanation, letting the curly strands of his hair fall on his forehead as he directed his gaze toward the table.

"But does pain need to be gratified?"

"I am sure it does, Will. Pain and tristesse are human feelings, as happiness and love are. Why would one gratify only love, when loneliness needs its share of art as well?"

"People need to be happy, I guess." His gaze rose to meet the back of the doctor who stirred now the coffee from their cups.

"It is natural to pursue happines. But as natural is to grieve over the loss of someone you love."

"Would you grieve after me, doctor Lecter?"

His smile was lifeless, expressing nothing but the emptiness he felt engulfing his chest. Hannibal stopped, put the spoon silently in the sink and turned with the same composed and serious expression to Will to declare a _'yes'_. Will took a moment to analyse the other's features; they all fell in that calculated manner of their own. But beyond the cold stare of the doctor, Will could see fire burning, devouring the insides of his mind, could see pillars of that composure slowly cracking. A lopsided smirk adorned his lips, before he moved his hand to brush it against his jaw in a habitual gesture he did when he felt nervousness tickling at his senses.

"Is this a warning, Will? That I shall prepare myself to mourn you?" This time, the unmoved expression of the doctor was replaced with pure concern; and curiosity; a pang of panic. But mostly anger. Pulsating anger, which fired up his crystals and made red and black inflections to dance chaotically over their surface.

"No. No, it is not." He inforced his words with a shake of his head and he could practically see Hannibal's gaze speaking to him, telling him 'Good; very well. That is the answer I want to hear'. He rubbed his face with his palms again, in the meantime the doctor placing the two coffees on the table. He tentatively took a first sip, then the second, letting the bitter-sweet taste of the drink coat his mouth.

"How do you like it?"

Will made an effort to lock his gaze with Hanibal's; a smile was offered; and the gesture mirrored.

"Breathtaking."

"I hope not at a dangerous degree." The empath heard himself laugh, a throaty laugh, his crystals being sunk in tears as he did so. As the trembling sounds of the laughter faded on his lips, he sighed.

_Inhale. Exhale._

"Breath-giving, then." _As you are in your entirety for me, doctor..._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you got to see the end notes, it means I haven't bored you totally, haha~ Anyhow; comments are well-received. 
> 
> P.S.: This is the first time for me to write anything related to Hannibal. I hope neither Will nor Hanni-babe are out of character.


End file.
